


Just Clones

by letitrainathousandflames



Series: Clone Trooper Files [7]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Drabble, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 05:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16988718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letitrainathousandflames/pseuds/letitrainathousandflames
Summary: Drabble about the clone troopers





	Just Clones

They bump their gauntlets together in reassurance, they press their foreheads to one another’s, they whisper quietly to the brothers who have marched away long before them.

And they stand in neat lines, their posture impeccable, their eyes trained ahead. The black visors of their helmets reflect the horrors ahead of them. And the white of their armors soon is charred black or slathered red.

Some of them scream encouragements over the raging gunfire, others scream in agony, in despair. Some of them beg quietly for a swift death, others grit their teeth and drag their torn bodies through the battlefield shooting blast after blast until the enemy gunfire silences them for good.

And some urge them to their covers. Others even run straight ahead where the bombing and shooting is deafening and they carry the wounded on their backs, promising them another day to fight.

An ARC’s kama is torn into a makeshift bandage. Trembling fingers let go off a helmet with a cracked visor that clatters to the ground. A neck gets pierced with a shot of painkillers made especially to keep one fighting regardless of the pain of their injuries.

Most of these men are nine years old, although they look eighteen. The improvised medbay has over thirty injured troopers and the medics are understaffed. Twelve men will die in there tonight. Twice as much will die tomorrow.

Their commanders don’t get more than two hours of sleep, and even so they jolt awake at the sound of the distant bombings every now and then. Somewhere, a kid - that’s what shinies are, isn’t it? - is throwing up his rations and sobbing. The closest person he knew for all of his short life is dead now.

But nobody wants to hear stories like this.

They’re not people after all, are they?

They’re just clones.


End file.
